Her: He didn't move beyond the point of the table, standing before me, as I stayed beside Samuel, my hands on his shoulders. I tried to turn his head. He was entirely locked up, his body rigid and firm. I felt his heartbeat in his neck. I looked into his eyes and they were tearing. He could blink and nothing more.
“What the fuck did you do to him?” I asked again.
“A potent tranquilizer, similar to the varieties used to tag wild animals. He is fully conscious and able to hear and see us, within his field of view. However, he cannot move or speak. In forty minutes or thereabouts he will be as good as gold.”
I lunged at him with my razor-sharp nails, swiping them across his face; red, deep gashes opened on his cheek. Sir William did not budge. He merely turned his cheek, allowing me to watch as the cuts healed and disappeared.
“It is perfectly understandable to be upset, dear Magdalene.”
“Don't you fucking call me by that name!” I put my hands up to my face and held my head; my headache exploded. I could not recall when he had moved from the table to spike Samuel's beer. He must have done it when he erupted into laughter. I turned in a panic and grabbed the kitchen knife and dived for his throat, stabbing several inches deep. Again the blasted wound healed instantly. He remained firm
I looked frantically around the kitchen and walked up to the fire extinguisher and pulled the pin, positioning my body between him and Samuel. I wanted to spray his face and eyes, to bewilder him. Sir William merely came up to me with gentle movements and took the tank out of my hands.
“It is time for you and me to leave now, my dear.”
“I won't ever accept you!” I yelled. “I'd rather die first than have anything to do with you.” I was Samuel's mother polar bear refusing to leave her cub. I placed my hands on Samuel's shoulders.
“I promise! We WILL let you be part of the baby's life. I promise!”
“The time for co-operation is now over, dear Magdalene.”
“What will you do with me?” I asked, stalling for time.
“You will be cared for with the most gracious attention available, fully pampered and protected, until my grandchild is born.”
“Then what?” I demanded. My heart was ready to burst out of my chest.
“Sometimes it is best to leave things in a status of mystery. People are too quick to organize their lives, leaving nothing to chance or improvisational inspiration. Rest assured you will receive only the best at your disposal, the best foods, physician care, clothing, anything and everything will be available at your behest.”
“Really?” I asked. He was a man, maybe not a normal man, yet he was still a man who could be fooled. “I'll need to pack a few things then.”
“An excellent idea, my dear. Your acceptance and enthusiasm pleases me. I will wait for you here and at the risk of being insistent, kindly bring along your dream book.”
“What about Samuel?” I asked.
“Get your things and return and then we shall talk about Samuel afterward.”
I touched Samuel one more time and pinched him hard, behind his back, so that his father couldn’t see me. If the two of us were smart we would have developed a private code word or at least a special touch that meant we were a connected force. I hoped my pinch would tell Samuel I was on his side, not his father's.
Him: Unshakable fear! I could not move an inch, not my arms or legs or head, not my chest. I could only breathe and blink and hear. I heard his hollow words, trying to buy off Magdalene with wealth. She despised riches. She would never accept him over me. She would never love him over me. I had underestimated him. The very minute Magdalene told me about him we should have fled Ottawa, leaving everything behind. Our possessions were an anchor, dragging us down to the depths of darkness. You are never secure. Your life is precarious and changeable up until the moment of death. Only the love shared between two makes the experience of life tolerable. That's all I could think of, sitting blankly. Magdalene had to get away! I figured she pinched me to assure me she was playing him.
Her: Samuel would insist I run, to put as much distance between his father and me as possible. I knew my husband and how he thought. He would rather I escape and he die than for me to be taken prisoner. This day had become our horror.
I walked around Samuel's chair gradually, until I cleared his father's side as he stood in front of him. He nodded his head and didn't bother to turn back to watch me as I went into our main hallway. The front door was closed.
As fast as a gazelle, I dashed with my long legs in strong, vibrant strides, running down the hallway, opening the front door, having nothing on my person, not a wallet or set of keys, only my clothing. They waited for me on the front step.
“Father is psychic,” said Cain. “He correctly advised you would bolt.”
“You are a prize filly,” said Raven, grabbing and holding me firm.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you doing this?” I asked, hysterical and desperate. “I've done nothing to either of you!”
“Ms. Magdalene, we are Samuel's half-brothers and therefore your brothers-in-law… we are here for your safety. No harm will come to you, I assure you. It is my great pleasure to meet you. Father has told us much, how you are an extraordinary woman. He rarely speaks of women in such a positive light,” said Cain.
Raven looked at me with lust in his eyes. I had seen that look a thousand times before. Samuel would have to kill his half-brothers to get to his father.
They brought me to an awaiting vehicle and seated me in back, with Raven sitting beside, continuing to hold my arm. Cain crawled into the front seat and locked all four doors. I was trapped!
Him: My gorgeous girl dashed like the wind. I heard yelling. I couldn't see past the front step but it wasn't difficult to figure out what had happened. My half bastard brothers were there to stop her. I tried to move yet couldn’t I tried to turn my head yet couldn’t. My father pulled out a chair and turned it around, opening his knees to sit. He rested his arms on the chair back and looked into my tearing eyes. No sound escaped my lips, only a small line of drool had dropped to my chin. My father picked up a napkin.
“Here, let me get that slobber for you, my son. True, I am manipulative and deceitful and rarely fooled, if ever. From the beginning of your birth, I have ensured that monthly reports were provided to me. I tell you this now because I believe in you, Samuel, as I have from the beginning. I could not anticipate when you could or would father a child and to my great joy, finally that day has come. I am so pleased with you, my son.”
The smug, fucking asshole spoke as though I was a friend, in a soothing tone. Thoughts of torture entered my head, how I would exact my revenge, how I would make him suffer for all eternity. I didn't care if he read my thoughts. I was filled with such intensity in rage that I expected my brain to leak out of my ears.
“There, there, Samuel, do not fret. I deserve to be tortured, not because of the actions I have taken with you and your wife but because of who I am and the number of humans I have killed. I could stop feeding altogether. I tried that once and even without blood, I cannot die. Without feeding, I turn into a beast. One lesson I have learned in my long years is that the meaning of life is eternally illusive. However, there are certainties that can be relied upon to assist you in making your way through life and to my mind the most significant is acknowledging and comprehending the psychology of predisposition. Every species on the planet, from the smallest single cell organism to the most complex cells, such as humans, is predisposed to organizing into hierarchies. As a species, humans are incapable of existing without hierarchies, some call it unfair because many starve and live sub-standard lives while others live a life of opulence. Economists refer to this as stratification. Anthropologists call it natural selection. Political scientists and philosophers have applied creative terms to our hierarchies, from democracies to oligarchies, from utilitarianism to dictatorships to outright chaos. In either case, the bottom line is at what point do you choose or wish to appear on the hierarchical ladder? Is your preference to exist on the bottom rung? Can you only survive in rarefied air at the top? Dialogue on the never-ending drama of civil wars I also find most amusing… the elitist viewpoints of learned men who define and explain politics behind bloodshed are erudite and useless, unable to change that basic precept of life, the hierarchy. In the earliest of years, the first formally organized hierarchies were those of Goddess worship, constructed to promote enlightenment, co-operation, openness and communication, yet ultimately these were squelched by patriarchal hierarchies, the first being religious in nature, which as we know all too well were based on male supremacy and violence. Ultimately, all of life comes down to hierarchies because power naturally asserts itself. I cannot change the world, Samuel. However, I do possess the ability to make small changes where possible. I could go on and on, as I am sure you have gathered I am fond of oratory. My final point I wish to make is that I choose to remain at the top of the feeding chain, or the upper most level of the hierarchy. You understand, of course. I can see it in your eyes. If you were me, you would assume the same attitude and posture but enough about my opinions. Relax while I run upstairs and pack a few things for your wife and certainly I do not want to forget her dream book.”
Her: Before the words came out of my mouth, Cain passed a bottle of water over top the front seat, which Raven took, and uncapped, handing me the fresh water. I refused it, even though I was terribly thirsty. Fear evaporates every ounce of moisture in your body; it erodes your ability to think and act clearly. Samuel would want me to remain calm; he would want me to make friends with my enemies as a means of formulating a plan to escape. That became my reason for coping, to escape. And when I would escape, which I had no doubt in my mind I would, my goal would be first and foremost to return to my beloved, my Samuel.
Him: He walked up the stairs in no hurry. I mentally made note of the time that had elapsed before I slipped into the wide-awake coma. His footsteps were surprisingly light. I heard him nonetheless. He walked into her bedroom, then walked into my room, for reasons I could not discern. He went into our attic. I heard him return from the attic and go back into Magdalene's room. He opened a closet.
Our house was quiet and empty; the absence of Magdalene created a void. The noises he made were a shrill drill sounding in my ears. I thought of torture.
“Well, my son, this has been an exciting few days. Admittedly, I half expected you and Magdalene to disappear the afternoon you learned of me. I was surprised quite frankly that you did not leave town. It would not have mattered in any event. You would have been followed and interceded, ending up in the same position where you are now. I hope you accept these words at face value. I shall care for your wife with a true heart, to ensure she is happy, healthy and safe. When the child is born, I will make arrangements to re-unite you with your love. After all, I am not an unfeeling man…ah…a vampire, I should correct myself. Even after all these years, I have kept the habit of calling myself a man. As for coming after me, I would not concern yourself. You will find that I am a transient being, moving from one location to another. I maintain a cadre of homes, virtually impossible to locate. And so before I depart, as time is running out on your tranquilizer, I would like to leave you with a thought. I read this wee pearl in your wife's dream book. Incidentally, I do not believe I have ever known a woman as devoted and extraordinary as Magdalene. The love she holds for you fills me with envy. She wrote this particular dream I do not believe you have had an opportunity to read. Allow me to share with you. The symbolism is primitive…you get the idea, though…I am very excited, my son. She wrote and I directly quote”:
(Dream - Thursday, April 14: Samuel's father is walking with me along a pier. The smell of oil is in the air. I feel the wind in my hair. I smile at him and he smiles in return. We're holding hands).
He leaned into me and planted a kiss on my forehead, rubbing the top of my head, whispering the following words softly into my ear. “It would most assuredly interest you to know that the unborn child in your wife's womb is a boy, a Crimson boy! Congratulations, my son!”
He patted me on the cheek and walked out with one suitcase and Magdalene's dream book in hand. My large toe moved. The feeling in my left leg was returning. I moved my forefinger. My head turned slightly down.
My father's dream was to create an offspring of hybrid children from hybrid humans. My dream had also materialized. I would be the one to end him. I would lure and trap him into a small cage, small enough to induce insanity; small enough that barely two paces could be marked. At night, I would drug him with poisonous vapours to fill his lungs and nostrils with rancid aroma to obliterate all memory of delectable food. I would immobilize his body and one by one, each fingernail would be pulled out, tortuously slow, only then to begin working on his toenails.
Each digit would be cut off with protracted periods of waiting in between, ensuring the pain to be agonizingly slow, so that his vampire blood would be drained in attempting to re-grow new digits. I would pluck each tooth from his head and spikes would be nailed into his ears and his eyelids would be stitched closed. He should suffer to never see another living creature. And only the smallest morsel of blood would be given to him, to taunt him.
My father's death would not be death. My father's death would be eternal damnation in a cage. My father's death would be the beginning of my life, payment for my birth.
And Magdalene, my love, my adoring wife; my purpose for existing would come home to me and I would take her in my arms and profess my love. I would take her to my bed and no man or woman would come between us.
My left leg moved forward. I shifted my arm downward. I felt like an old man with creaky bones. My cell phone rang. With great effort, my hand reached for the phone to unlock it. I saw the number. Pussy was calling.